by L. E. Waters
He waits until he’s reaches me at the bottom. I step back, not wanting to be so near. “I was only testing the waters to see if I could get any big fish to bite.”
“Why wouldn’t you notify me? You promised me first right of refusal.”
He moves to the parlor and sits tightly, crossing his legs. I choose to stand.
“You honestly think you could have afforded that?”
I wish I could slap his smug grin off his face, but I calm my hand. I take a deep breath and say slowly, “At least you could have given me the option. I might have been able to get investors.”
“Graham has purposed an offer that I can’t refuse. I would be a fool not to accept it, and I’ve tired of journalism.”
“I am your editor. You have made me a fool to be the last to know of your plans.” My fists clench.
He shifts to his side and refills his glass on his liquor tray. He fills another glass then offers it up to me.
At first, I want to deny it, but my jumbled nerves crave cooling. I retrieve it with heavy feet and back away as I guzzle the brandy down.
“I don’t understand why you are kickin’ about. This doesn’t affect you in the slightest—”
“Of course it affects me.”
“I haven’t hornswoggled you. I’ve negotiated that Graham keeps you on as editor and he is more than happy to have you.” He lifts the glass up to me. “It appeared to sweeten the deal for him.”
I clank the empty glass down on the marbled top end table and make my way to the door.
He shouts after me, “It is lucky for you that I quite enjoy drama, Poe, but it is these tantrums that are going to be your downfall.”
I slam the door behind me and make my way home in the cold.
Chapter 30
Fanny used to say, “Bad luck always comes in threes.” Of course, she always said it when she was sick, which was usually far more occurrences than three. I drag home and walk in to Muddy and Virginia singing at the piano. I slink down in the slat-backed rocker and Muddy jumps up at once to make me comfortable.
“Another bad day, Eddie.” Muddy tries to fluff the pillow behind me. “You’re tired from your Richmond trip. Traveling takes so much out of you.”
I never told them why I’ve soured so after my trip to Richmond.
Virginia says in far too perky a tone, “Let me play something for you.” She starts to play the minuet, I could not care less about her joke.
“Oh, you are in a mood. I can’t even get you to laugh.” Her hands sit heavily on the keys.
“Burton’s just informed me he’s sold the magazine.”
Good, that gets their attention.
“Oh no,” Muddy says, her hand going to her mouth in worry. “Does it affect us?”
“If you mean my job, no. He has graciously made sure Graham—the new owner—keeps me on as editor of the merge.”
Virginia spins on the piano bench. “Well, what is the problem then?”
I say far too loudly, “He never even gave me to chance to buy it myself.”
They both look down immediately at their hands.
“What?” I sit up to lash out my words. “You don’t think I could do it?”
Muddy chooses her words wisely, after exchanging a look with Virginia. “It’s not that we don’t think you could manage a magazine, but that we don’t have the means for such an acquisition.”
“That is what investors are for.” I sit back in the chair, realizing she will never understand such business concepts. There is no point.
“I’m sorry you’re disappointed, Edgar. Ma has made some chicken pie that will melt on your tongue, and I will play you a cheery tune to sweeten your mood.” She spins back around with her lithe body and plays Bayly’s The Long Ago, only squeezing lemon juice on the scar opened by Elmira’s reappearance.
“Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago,
Sing me the songs I delighted to hear,
Long, long ago, long ago,
Now you are come all my grief is removed,
Let me forget that so long you have roved.
Let me believe that you love as you loved,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Do you remember the paths where we met?
Long, long ago, long, long ago.
Ah, yes, you told me you’d never forget,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Then to all others, my smile you preferred,
Love, when you spoke, gave a charm to each word.
Still my heart treasures the phrases I heard,
Long, long ago, long ago.
Tho’ by your kindness my fond hopes were raised,
Long, long ago, long, long ago.
You by more eloquent lips have been praised,
Long, long ago, long, long ago,
But, by long absence your truth has been tried,
Still to your accents I listen with pride,
Blessed as I was when I sat by your side.
Long—”
Virginia’s voice chokes out violently, and she grabs at her throat. Muddy runs to her at once, “Is something caught in your throat?” Muddy’s face turns red, as Virginia drains of color.
I hurry over to get her a glass of water and Virginia keeps coughing so thickly that it must be doing damage. Muddy pulls her frantically to her chest as she futilely pats her back. Virginia pushes away my water and coughs up in Muddy’s apron. The bright red stain left as Virginia, gasping, lays her head between her hands, drains both of our faces of color. Ma’s stain. Henry’s stain. Now, Virginia’s stain.
Muddy looks up at me with complete acknowledgement of consumption’s harbinger and whispers, “Go fetch the doctor at once.” She combs back Virginia’s hair, which has fallen out of her normally perfect bun. I leap into my shoes and don’t even bother to grab my hat. I’ve never run as fast as I do. A useless hurry. Nothing can stop the progression of the devastation caused by this affliction. No doctor can undo the curse. But all I can do is run. I bang on his townhouse, causing neighbors to leave their dinner tables and rush to their open windows.
“Dr. Snodgrass!” I beg.
Finally, he opens the door, wigless, with his black medical bag already in hand. He turns to his servant, his beady eyes wild in surprise. “Ready the carriage.”
“It’s my wife. She has had a coughing fit that resulted in bloody sputum.”
He gives a knowing nod. “Has she been coughing for some time?”
I pause, wondering if she has been coughing while I’ve been so consumed with my latest demons. “I don’t think so.”
“Fever? Night sweats?”
“I really don’t know,” I snap. How can I explain the fact that we don’t share a room, never mind a bed. How would I know if she was sweating?
He closes his mouth and remains quiet until we both climb up on the small bench of his one horse shay.
I lead him back to Muddy and Virginia, to their room with two beds. He looks confused for a moment when he realizes she shared the room with her mother and not me.
“Please leave me to examine her.”
Muddy and I back out of the room, and she nearly collapses in my arms.
“Oh, Eddie, I can’t bear to lose her too. I lost my first Virginia when she was so little. I can’t bear lose another child.”
I hold her by the fire, as I watch the door. How quickly our lives can change, when we least expect it. Thank God for ordinary days.
We both stiffen as we hear the latch flicker. Dr. Snodgrass steps out, not making eye contact until he is right before us.
“Consumption, I’m afraid.”
Muddy falls back into my arms. It still comes as a surprise after he confirms our worst assumption. A surge of useless panic surges through my veins.
“How advanced?” I can barely get the words out. Muddy and I stand on the edge of a cliff.
“It is hard to say with this disease. She’s broken a blood vesse
l in her throat.”
Muddy cries even harder, causing the doctor to increase his volume to be heard. “It might be some time before bleeding ceases, if it ceases at all.”
I walk away in my mind as he lists all the things that will help her: diet, clean air, rest—all I keep hearing is, no cure…only delaying.
Of course, Muddy is relieved by the notion that there are measures she can take to improve Virginia. I see the hopeful spark that she might halt the disease all together.
“I’ve administered some opium to help her rest.”
Muddy thanks the good doctor and requests that he stop in to check on Virginia periodically.
“Anything for a friend.” He shakes my hand warmly.
I go in to lie beside Virginia as she rests. I search for any sign of the disease—this dreadful cloud of disease that shadows me, taking all that I care for. I fan the air around us in, hoping for it to take seed within me. I’m so weary and unstable. I’m not strong enough for so much pain…so much loss.
My only medicine, my only fortification comes in a bottle. I can’t bear the sight of an ailing Virginia. I rely so greatly on her perky spirit, ever counter-balancing my mournful constitution.
Muddy frets over Virginia the same way she frets over the housekeeping, keeping her in her finest dresses and her hair in pretty ribbons and sausage curls. She cooks endlessly for Virginia to prevent her from fading like so many with the disease do. After one particularly large bottle, I wake up among the garbage piles. Once I get my blurry bearings, I stare up to gleaming eyes. A dark, fluffy face watches over me in my liquored slumber.
“Mew,” the little critter squeaks. I reach out my hand, expecting it to scamper away, but the little street urchin stays and licks my finger. I brush its downy coat, with sharp tiny bones poking through its softness. It gives another squeaky meow as I gather it up, cupped in my two large hands. I search around for a mother, for it’s so small it surely needs one. I see no mother or littermates in the alley.
I hold it up in front of my face, noticing its unusual golden eyes. “You must belong to me, then.”
I tuck it under my dirtied coat, enjoying the warm spot it makes upon my chest. Muddy and Virginia are long asleep, but I creep into their room and place the little kitten in the nook of Virginia’s bended arm beneath her pillow.
Virginia comes into my room at dawn, snuggling the little kitten to her chest. “Where did you find her?” She lifts it to her face and gives it tiny kisses on its nose.
I stretch, and open my eyes to the expected pain from the sunlight coming through my window. “In an alley.”
She studies my appearance quickly but shrugs off the suspicion. “She slept with me all night. I never slept better.”
“I unfortunately, have.” The headache cries out. “Ask Muddy to put on a hot toddy for me.”
“She already has.” She giggles, sending her into a cough. She pulls a handkerchief out of her bosom. “She took one look at your filthy coat and headed straight for the teakettle.”
“Have you named her?” I rub the sleep from my eyes.
“Hmm.” She bites her lip as she studies her. “Bella?”
I shake my head. “No, Bella seems like a white animal’s name. This one needs something more mysterious.”
“Will she bring us bad luck?” Virginia jokes.
“I don’t see how things could get much worse.”
Her laughter stings in my ears.
“She’s as small as a mouse. What about Mousie?”
I shake it off again. “That would only become a grey cat.”
“Catterina,” Muddy says from the door jam.
Virginia squeals. “That’s perfect. You are our little Catterina.” She holds her close and meets my eyes. “This is just the thing to make me better.”
If only it could.
Chapter 31
Muddy looks the other way when I give in to the bottle, allowing me some leniency after “the accident”—which is how we referred to Virginia’s sickness from then on. Using words like consumption and tuberculosis bring us too far out of our necessary denial. I’m happy that Burton sold the magazine so quickly, avoiding him in the office became a game. Graham is a decent fellow and allows me to go about my job as unusual. No lectures about being overly critical and strongly urging me to contribute whenever I can. As I’m repairing from a particularly rough night, Virginia peels Catterina off her stomach and places the warm, droopy critter on my lap while I slump in the chair as Muddy hurries to get the coffee on.
Virginia finally stops coughing up the lingering pink-tinted sputum, but still coughs far too much for Muddy and my nerves. It’s as if I could count the time between coughs as a scale for how sick she is. At times, it would cease for hours and other times there would be ten fits within an hour. Today though, we haven’t heard a cough all morning and it brings our spirits up. Catterina especially enjoys not being shaken awake on the quake of her belly.
“Look at this!” She squeals and sticks The Star in front of me, pointing at the review of my newest short story publication. “They’ve embraced The Murders in the Rue Morgue with open arms. They say you have created a whole new genre: detective fiction!”
My blurry eyes try to focus on the words of praise with all my might. I pretend not to care so that they won’t know how much I ailed this morning. “That is wonderful.”
She slaps two more newspapers down. “The same praise in The Evening Post and The New-World. The best newspapers in the city, Edgar. I am so proud.”
Her lovely honey eyes twinkle with the greatest esteem, but I feel far from worthy at the moment. Muddy waves a letter in my face as she pours the rich smelling coffee too slowly in my waiting tea cup.
“From Mrs. Mackenzie.”
I blow on the rejuvenating liquid, eager for the first scalding sip, in hopes of it settling my stomach. “Don’t pretend you haven’t read it already, my dear.”
She gives a sheepish smile and returns the coffee pot to the fireplace. “She and Rosalie are so proud of your accomplishments. She says you are quite the talk about Richmond and, since they hold you as one of their own, a great many of her friends have requested to host a party in your name.”
I shake my head immediately, although my brain rattles unpleasantly against my skull.
Virginia perks up. “Just think of it, Edgar, all of Richmond’s finest to come and see what a success you have become.”
Richmond’s finest. Elmira.
“Maybe I shall consider it.” I don’t know if it’s the coffee or the hope of seeing Elmira again, but my headache disappears. I nod. “Yes, I think I shall write Mrs. Mackenzie that I would be most honored to attend such a party.”
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
I can’t help but purchase a new coat and shirt for the affair. I hate to leave Virginia for any prolonged time, but she assures me she is feeling much improved. After I force Dr. Snodgrass out for a visit and he confirms she seems to be mending, the guilt is lifted for my journey. I stop off at Graham’s, making sure to tie up loose ends before my trip. While I’m finalizing a proof, the engraver saunters in, dapper from head to toe. He struts directly up to me with a tight-lipped grin on his jolly face.
“I finally have the luck to meet the famed Poet-Editor.” He is English by accent and smells of bay rum tonic, which doesn’t appear to be working, judging by the bald patch displayed on the back of his head after he removes his stove-pipe hat.
I nod to him, with slight suspicion of such overly friendly greetings, although something about him, the way he walks or holds his chin, or how he looks about the room as though it’s his ship, makes me want to salute him as captain. I settle on a lukewarm smile and a question. “Mr. Sartain, I presume?”
He removes his coat and rolls up his sleeves to get to work, revealing a long-healed scar running from his forearm to elbow. “In the flesh. I engrave here once a month, and it was an unfortunate day last month when I showed and you were ill.�
��
The day after the accident.
“I am much better, Captain.”
His eyes open wide at the slip and a rich chuckle rolls out.
“I have no idea why I called you that, sir. Please beg my forgiveness.”
“Captain.” His slate eyes sparkle. “Suits me fine. I have been called much worse.”
“My mind is not where it should be. I’m hurrying this editorial to catch a train to Richmond.”
“Lovely place. When you return, I must insist on sharing a drink or two and discussing literary matters.” He leans his cane against the wall.
“Something to look forward to upon my return.”
“I shall leave you to your work then.” He bows and backs away toward his station with an enduring smile.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
The whole train ride I hold the image of her at the top of the stairs, bathed in the most appealing light of the candelabra. If any sort of black magic could have allowed me to reach through the vision to kiss her once more, I fear I would have sold my soul for it. Holding her in my frantic and desperate thoughts is all I can do in self-absorbed prayer. As the train nears the city I love and hate equally, my heart beats as though it can never slow back down again. I grab the first cab I can, not even asking the fare. Yes, I could have walked my way to Rosalie’s plantation like I’ve done so many times, saving me the expense, but my heart can’t take the journey, it’s beating so haphazardly. I should have asked who is attending, to at least spare me the heart attack I fear impending. I couldn’t care less when we pass Moldavia. I don’t even check to see if Mr. Allan’s rich, thief-children run about the lawn.
The Mackenzies’ house looks just as it did for Rosalie’s birthday. The tables are outside with streamers and banners hung on this unseasonably warm spring day. I search for Elmira’s figure, the same young girl I saw standing on this grass so many years before. It seems our longing never ages, my youthful passion for that same girl would never be met. Would reuniting with her older version provide any relief?
My shoulders sag as soon as I search the faces and find hers absent. How silly that I should come all this way in hopes of even seeing her from afar. Rosalie drifts to me since I’m parked in front of the teacakes. She stands next to me without any pressure of conversation. She doesn’t appear to have matured a day since I first met her. No wonder she enjoyed teaching children so much. Even though she seems frozen in immaturity, she’s the only genuine soul at the pretentious gathering. I take a step closer to her. She reaches behind me with her tongue stuck out to grab the last peppermint cake on the far tray. After shoving one in, getting frosting stuck on the corner of her lips and chin, she looks up in a child-like astuteness. “Elmira will be here later.”